Parachute
by TangledUpLies
Summary: Perhaps nothing could have stopped them from falling.


Hey! A quick thank you to the reviews and favorites for _Constant_! They made me super happy and I'm grateful for them all!

Firstly, I need to just rant/vent for a minute. I seriously spent Tuesday with my heart shattered. It's Paget's last season, and all I have to say is EPIC FAILURE. My passion for this show is slowly dying. Ever since last June, this show has not been the same one I fell head over heels in love with in December of the year before. I'm honestly raging over this entire show right now. The way Paget has been treated (as well as the wonderful AJ) has me so disgusted. They're treated like crap, the show as a whole is treated like it's an unwanted child even when it brings in solid ratings. The network and Ed Bernero, because I hold him accountable for so much more than I see people complaining about since he doesn't stand up for his cast, are both responsible for this. Season six has been such a disappointment. The cast changes, the awful storylines and the profiling (you, know, their jobs!) has been lacking. Ed needs to fix this show before turning greedy by running off to work on the spin-off just to make the extra cash. And seriously, show, network and Ed, women are not interchangeable, especially those two who are/were one of my main reasons for me watching. They are just as strong, if not more, than the men (I love them all too). They're such a positive influence and having them dragged off my screen horrifies me. And finally, I know the spoilers, I read them, so the way the amazing and fearless Emily Prentiss is being speculated in leaving also makes me annoyed and upset. There are more or less two possible ways for her to leave. I hate both options because ultimately it'll still mean the same thing. She will no longer be on my television screen. Yeah, the episode hasn't aired, and I might be acting overly dramatic but I'm super afraid what is going to happen to her and the tweets about her ending being ~awesome from the cast aren't helping me at all. They just worry me even more. It's completely stupid; the entire Emily arc is nonsense. She is _never_ scared of anything, but suddenly she looks like she wants to crack any second. Really? Also I understand why Paget's leaving. Gosh, who wouldn't? She's keeping her dignity and that makes me see more hearts in my eyes. She's underappreciated and too talented. I'll just miss her so much; I don't even know if/how I can go back for season seven, which I don't doubt they're getting. Why the hell did they have to mess them up? The entire cast was pure perfection and because of money and stupidity, they're dissipating. Ugh, I cannot handle this and I know this is just a show, but it is my own damn fault for getting invested in fictional characters and television. I'm not looking for people to point out to me that I'm being ridiculous and to tell me to simply stop watching if I'm unhappy or for people to agree. I had to just let this out in one big paragraph because it has been bothering me _so_ very much, I want to scream and cry. How much better I feel hasn't changed since I can't ever fix this atrocious situation; but I'm finished for now.

And moving on, I was on break and in my attempt to avoid real life and the happenings of the show, I spent my time watching the past seasons. During the mini marathons, the first few episodes of season five was a rather nice highlight, especially 5.01 since that was how I got hooked onto these two together. The amount of intensity, tension and subtext from them in the beginning there _always_ had me wondering if and even thinking that something _must_ have been going on between them. Therefore this idea isn't anything new or original since there are dozens and dozens of stories using season five as the backdrop of how these two are put together. I had kind of tried at it once already. But I _really_ wanted to attempt it again. I haven't done anything in chapters because in all honesty, I don't consider myself a strong enough writer to continue something that doesn't simply just end when the last sentence is read. Does that make sense? Anyway, after giving in and with the episodes as well as one of my favorite songs on repeat endlessly for hours, this is the first chapter (yay!). I was unsure of the length because, again, this is new and I didn't know how/where to stop and everything else. The beginning feels painstakingly slow and hopefully not confusing, but I wanted some sort of foundation. I tried my best not to mess with what we saw of them in season four (that season had loads of subtext too) as much as possible to fit how they would work. Everything in my head was all jumbled up and driving me bonkers and this was mostly written at two in the morning since I refused to sleep, lol. There are a few short scenarios I wished to have happened between them pictured out in my head already and a _very_ blurry ending. It will be a struggle to fill in the holes and I'll have to be extremely patient with myself. My fingers, legs and toes are crossed though in hopes that I can actually manage to finish this without making it _so_ completely bad and butchering this perfect ship, lol. Grammar, spelling and all that bad stuff I missed, my apologies for them because I've been working on this for nearly a month and reading it too might have made me overlooked something. And now I wish that everyone has a fantastic reading. Please be dolls after you finish in letting me know what you thought because feedback and whatevs are loved and welcomed. Thank you so very much! =]

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**One: Little Black Boxes**

Emily Prentiss knew how to compartmentalize.

It was the one thing she perfected like no other.

The task of placing every thought wandering in her head, every feeling she felt pounding in her heart into little black boxes, she did with a quick snap of her thin delicate fingers.

Every so often she just didn't, almost couldn't deal with certain situations.

The first time she ever did so, compartmentalizing those thoughts and those emotions she couldn't handle, was when she was fifteen. It was the constant moving around. It was the need for friends because all she ever craved for was acceptance. It had always sounded and seemed so simple, being part of a group of people, being a part of something.

For her, it wasn't so easy though.

What she wanted most had to come with a price.

She knew it had been wrong. She hadn't felt ready yet. But what she had wanted, what they all had wanted from her kept prodding hard in the back of her head.

It would be over before she could feel anything. It would be painless. This might just be the one thing she had to do to get her somewhere. So Emily didn't tell them no, only gently sliding those hands to exactly where she all too well knew where they wanted them to go.

So when another boy had asked her, when another boy had touched her, she never refused and she always got to where she wanted to be.

Emily got her acceptance.

But she couldn't handle the grave amount guilt in her heart and the shame trailing behind her. She didn't like feeling so dirty after three showers. She needed to shove it all away. She just wanted friends. She shouldn't let her teenage girl emotions ruin it for her. Thus Emily had ignored them and everything she thought about herself, every word she associated herself with as she quietly pushed everything into those boxes and told herself she'll deal with them another time.

And once she saw the plus signs appearing on two different thin white sticks because she needed to be completely sure it was actually happening to her, she had to deal with it. She couldn't pretend that everything in her world was fine. The compartmentalizing had stopped working instantly and there had been no more waiting. Everything she had tried so hard to block away came rushing out with the big fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

All that compartmentalizing had backfired.

Yet twenty years later, Emily did it again.

When she had stepped onto the sixth floor with a large box in her grips telling a certain man she had last seen twenty years ago that she was there for the open position, her heart had been pumping from joy and nervousness. And she did her very best to not let it show. But it all took not even two minutes before she cracked just slightly.

There was no paperwork he signed. There was no approval for her.

She didn't belong here.

He had sent her away, and Emily left feeling dejected.

Still, she returned four days later, sitting in his office in the dark, waiting anxiously with determination flowing through her veins. This second meeting had to go her way. And when he had walked in, stunned to see her there; she had informed him with firmness in her words that she did belong there. It wasn't a whirl for her. She wanted it, this job. So that certain man gave her the green light. He was willing to give her a chance with no promises and it was all Emily had wanted; needed him to say.

So she worked. She had to prove herself to that certain man and the five other faces she met. Any ounce of her insecurities in her being the new girl trying to find a place with them had to be brushed to the side. She had to show them she was more than sure she belonged there. And she did everything she could, offer whatever information she knew and stayed the extra hour to complete the final files for the next day. Once she stepped onto the field too, there would be no fear or disgust in her expression. That would have been unacceptable. Regardless of the dismemberment, of the mutilated bodies and the amount of blood covering the grounds, she wouldn't allow it to affect her. She would take deep breaths, drawing away from the cases as much as possible, never looking too closely, never thinking about the odds and simply trying her best to feel as less as possible.

Just like when she was fifteen though, eventually those boxes burst opened too.

She would stay up in bed, her eyes hurting and her head pounding. She couldn't sleep. Her mind wandered continuously; thinking about the job, what she was doing, if she honestly did belong there and doubting too much about the actuality of difference she was making. And every now and then when all these overpowering thoughts crossed her mind while her emotions blended inside her heart, she would feel the few tears trickling down from the corner of her eyes and into her pillow.

Yet Emily still couldn't help herself because just three years later, she was doing it once more. She should have learned her lesson, but it had to be.

This time, she _had_ to compartmentalize. Those thoughts in the back of her head and the feelings in the looming in all the corners of her heart had blindsided her before she could've blinked.

And they shouldn't have been there.

Because the same man she had met again twenty years later and told her no when she first showed up with that box in her hands, the same man who wore that stoic and stiff mask and the same man whose confidence she worked so hard to gain, Emily had found her head and her heart drowning in.

Somehow along the way, Aaron Hotchner had begun quietly weaving himself into those two parts of her.

_He_ shouldn't have been there.

They were having quiet conversation for a while. The simplest kind about the things that would come into their heads on the jet in the dark sky because everyone but them had their eyes closed. It had been late one night on the flight back home from Seattle that had been their first. Sleep wouldn't come to her despite the tiredness in her body. And when she had found him awake as well in the corner seat in the back, they had talked. It was about the case, the five year old boy who would be growing up without his father. But then he had turned silent, looking down at his fiddling fingers before murmuring calmly.

"I haven't seen Jack in ten days… the longest period I haven't seen him… and I can't sleep…"

The trust he had been so reluctant to give her, she had now. She had shown him with Strauss, with the work she did on the team. But with his confession, it was perhaps more than she had expected.

Emily had said nothing though, keeping hushed because she didn't know how to respond, understanding that nothing she could've said would have been fitting for his mood, his personal situation at home. But once he had raised his head, apologizing softly for what she hadn't understood, she had smiled at him. For the rest of the flight home, they had sat without a word between them.

She hadn't minded it. It was nice.

Afterwards, the every once in a while when they both would find one another awake on the jet; they sat across each other, sometimes talking. He smiled some; he chuckled a few times too, and she did as well. It felt good talking to him. Something about him had felt comforting. And if they didn't talk, they sat in the quiet.

That silence was never awkward and a large part of her had begun to find it pacifying.

But it was in New York that might have begun it all.

The walk on the thin lines she was treading on now. The walk she found leading straight to him.

It had been two in the morning, and Emily was still awake, sitting on the one seat comfortable leather couch with her long covered legs hugged to her chest by the large window overlooking the sleeping city. She however couldn't sleep. She didn't feel like lying in the bed either, so on that one seat leather couch she had sat for an hour. And during that time she had found herself thinking about him, unsure if he was alright, if he was asleep given the long night they had had, especially him. Then she had shaken her head quickly, turning her focus back to the view before her. But her mind went back to him regardless and before she realized her next few movements, Emily had slipped her cold feet into her warm white slippers and was off the couch. And a mere minute later, she was standing in the bright hotel hallway in front of his door two rooms down. With feet together like a child's, her knuckles had lightly hit against the wood. That was when she had finally grasped what she was doing. Yet her feet couldn't move, and twelve seconds later, he pulled the door carefully open.

"Hey."

A small smile graced her face while her cheeks grew warm.

"Hey."

The surprise on his face seeing her at that moment had been evident.

Then a deafening silence had filled between them. Emily felt ridiculous, embarrassed for standing there as she glanced down momentarily, mulling over what to say and what to do next.

But he had spoken first, his tone full of concern. "Are you okay?"

His calm and inquisitive question knocked her out of her head and she lifted her gaze up to his. He had studied her quizzically and all she did was chuckled some.

"Yeah…" She tugged quickly on the hem of her black tank with her trembling fingers. "I just-"

"Would you like to come in?"

And with that, Hotch had opened the door wider for her entry, stepping to the side yet never allowing his stare upon her to waver. She had sighed and walked into his room, seeing his unmade bed and the pale glow of the lamp. Once she had heard the sharp click of the closing door, she turned around.

"I'm sorry… if I woke you…"

Without hesitation though he shook his head, "It's fine… I wasn't sleeping anyway." He moved four inches closer to her while she nodded once more, eluding his still continuing and intense eyes. And then he had led her to the tiny corner table by the large window, she remembered. Then without asking, he had poured her a small glass of whiskey and placed it in front of her. She had whispered her gentle words of gratitude and held the glass between her hands as they had sat opposite one another in the quiet for a while like what they did on the jet, looking out at the cityscape. She hadn't doubt that he was wondering and vexed about her presence.

A fraction of her was too. She had been the one to knock on his door. But that wasn't what her confusion had been about. It had been about the unconcious need to check on him almost. When she could've done so the next morning, she didn't understand how and why her movements and thoughts had to choose that moment to settle her curious mind. That was the part she didn't understand.

"Are you okay?"

How long had passed, Emily hadn't known, but in an instant to his repeated inquiry, she had lifted her eyes back up, a frail nervous curl of her lips for him. She watched as his forehead furrowed just a touch.

She cleared her throat then, her words faint in the room. "I was thinking about the case… and I couldn't sleep… and the case…" She had glanced down, tucking a few fallen strands of hair behind her ear with a soft sigh escaping from her mouth. "And I don't know... I was just worried… about you…" A tense titter came from her as her heart pounded in her chest.

But once she had twisted her eyes back to his face in that pale glow around them with the illuminated lights of the city outside, Hotch had given her a weak upward curve her way and whispered, "I'm fine…"

Emily had kept her eyes steady to his. "And how's your ear?"

He lifted his hand, brushing it slightly against his right side and his face had softened a bit. "There's still some ringing, but it doesn't hurt as much as before."

She nodded slowly, a timid smile remaining on her face whilst her index finger ran around the rim of the glass. "Good…"

And after that they had sat in his room while allowing the silence enveloped them once again. There had been a touch of awkwardness, given that she was sitting in his room. But what she recognized, what she felt mostly was comfort.

Like their times on the jet, she had felt it then too.

The minutes had begun ticking away, and the silence remained. But when a loud sound was heard from the hallways, Emily had jump a bit. And as soon as her eyes had landed on the red numbers on his nightstand, she had gotten up, looking quickly at him. They had been sitting in together wordless for nearly thirty minutes.

"Um, it's… it's really late… I better go…" she murmured.

And for a long moment she had stared at him, her eyes for the first time since she had knocked on his door, gazing over the few cuts on his face, wondering if he truly meant what he had told her.

"I'm fine… really."

As if he had known exactly what she was thinking, what she was doing, Emily had lowered her head. Her cheeks burned ever so slightly.

"Thank you though… for your concern…" His words trailed off.

She raised her head. For another time in the night an upward curve, one that was perhaps reassuring and warm, formed before her, and all she could do was nod twice.

"Goodnight…"

Walking to her exit, his footsteps had been right behind her. But when Emily was seven inches near the door, her hand ready to reach for the doorknob, she had stopped and so did he. Then she had turned around, and impulsively, her arms went around his neck.

Instantly Hotch had stiffened.

She had stood next to him before when they worked, sat close every now and then, but it never registered in her head, his scent. There was a tiny hint of the hotel shampoo. But what mostly flowed through her nose was peppermint and something else, something Emily couldn't figure out. But it was nice, that faint trace of the unknown and she felt the tender coil of her lips emerging.

Eventually, she had felt him relaxed. His head bent just slightly as his head turned inward, the tip of his nose had gently brushed against her jawline. And when his arms lifted carefully, encircling her tiny wait as her chest pressed into his, she felt the beats of his heart.

They were subtle yet fast.

But in eleven seconds though, realizing what she was doing, what they were doing, what she was feeling against her chest, Emily pulled away. She never looked back at him as she twisted around and left. And when she had returned to her room, she climbed into the cool bed, knowing how out of line she had been, contemplating on how she would apologize to him for her impulsive action. But all she felt were his arms around her waist still, and Emily didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

He never mentioned it, the hug.

When they had seen each other again three days later, everything had been almost like before. So she said nothing about it as well despite what she had done; what she was still feeling. There were no moments of tension, discomfort in the office, on the field. But once they were alone, was when it had been slightly different. Those quiet conversations on the trips back home, the silence she found comforting, they still had, but Emily had felt them lessening some.

She tried not letting it bother her for the reason that it simply did. She thought about it too much, pondering if the hug she had given was the reason. Even if he was still him, the man who did his best to not let the emotions show on his face, her boss, Emily had sensed, and maybe wanted somewhere deep down, a friendship forming between them.

Promptly though, she set those thoughts, the small desire, into the boxes.

Then almost six weeks later, they were returning from Colorado.

Three long days she wouldn't forget had been perhaps the tiny trigger.

On the jet, Emily had sensed his heavy and intense stare on her as she gazed out at the mix of orange and pink hues in the darkening sky. Hotch had been watching her. Since the early morning when she had stepped out into open air, he had his eyes on her every movement. Yet he had never spoken to her. He spoke to Reid, asking if he was alright, if he needed anything and she had even seen him pat his shoulder lightly. But she got nothing from him. Not when she stepped near him before climbing into the ambulance and not when she stood beside to him at the air strip. He had turned away before she could open her mouth.

From afar though, he had continued eyeing her.

But then she had been bold. After forty seven minutes of being weighed down by his stare sitting in the jet as she tried to put all her focus to the outside world, she did it. Emily had cautiously spun her head a few degrees around and smiled faintly toward him.

He didn't return the gesture however. His face was more or less expressionless. And he didn't even try to pretend he hadn't been observing her for so long. For three minutes their eyes were fixed on one another. That faint smile she had been giving him didn't falter. And like those two other times, Hotch had turned away, shifting his concentration to the open file in his hands. For the rest of the flight, he never once looked back at her. When they had landed, he had sent everyone home for two days.

Hotch had barely given her a glance then.

That night near eleven with the local news playing on her television screen, she was curled under a thin blanket with a half eaten bowl of pineapple coconut ice cream on the coffee table. Emily had just wanted to sleep; pure uninterrupted sleep. Her body was sore still just a bit and her head was aching. But her eyes couldn't close no matter how much she tried to will them to. She had been thinking of him, questioning his behavior, and wishing that she had talked to him before she had left. Then the knock on her door had brought her out of her head and caused her heart to skip a beat. She lowered the volume on the television before standing up, dragging her feet across her cold polished wood floors. And once she had peeked though the tiny peephole, her eyes had widened a touch.

He had been standing in front of her door, hands placed at his side as he looked to the ground. Her heart sped just a bit faster. And with a beam light on her face, covering the curiosity, the pain in her body, the nervousness and the drop of fear of his startling appearance, Emily had opened the door.

"Hey."

Her voice was calm. He didn't smile. He didn't move. He didn't respond until a long moment later.

"Hey."

Their rigid greeting hung in the air as silence ensued. He was just looking at her, his face stoic, his eyes hard.

Suddenly she felt naked.

After a few minutes, Emily had managed to find her words. "You want to come in?"

All he had given her was a nod before taking one step in and another.

For a split second, Hotch had brushed against her and she felt the tiny hairs on her arms stand. She had coolly pushed the door shut though, a weak sigh escaping her before spinning herself around. He stood in front of her, right in her path with his eyes closed. She had gasped sharply. Their chests were barely completely touching, just three more inches, she surmised without ever glancing downwards.

They had stayed frozen two feet away from the door as the hush continued to increase between them.

But the sound of her heartbeat she heard.

That had been too loud.

Then his hands had risen up and moved near her face; only few centimeters before he could have held her. Emily didn't move a muscle, she couldn't. All she could do was study his face, wondering what he was doing, why he wasn't looking at her. His face nevertheless remained stoic even with eyes shut. His lips had made a terse line. A moment had passed before he had taken a small footstep forward. The three inches she had guessed between them turned almost non existent. And in twenty two seconds because she had been counting in her head, Hotch carefully clasped her face in the palms of his large and callous hands. Her pulse had quickened while her heart beat wildly.

Everything had felt surreal and Emily wanted to pinch herself.

The heavy and intense stare she had experienced on the jet, she was directly underneath it once again. He said nothing still even so. His jaw clenched now. She tilted her head an inch up, needing a better angle of him. And like on the jet, she mustered up a little courage.

"_What?_"

Her lone question came out strained, hoarse, and in her ears, desperate. What he was imagining, what had been about his behavior since she had first seen him when she had struggled out of the compound alive and bruised, and what was happening at the exact moment; was all she wanted to know.

And that had been the trick though because his stoic face and his hard eyes little by little softened. And as Emily had stared back, attempting to figure out the answers to her own inquiry; it had flickered in his eyes.

Fear.

His thumb began gently stroking her swollen left eye. Her heart had been ready to jump out of her chest. Emily couldn't think clearly. She felt her grasp reaching for his sides. Nor could she see straight. Her surroundings were moving and she was getting dizzy. So she shut her eyes. But the image of him; that face of his, the stare filled with fear he had on her came out into the darkness.

Once her stare opened back to him again, all his focus was remained on nothing but her.

"I'm fine..."

The assurance she gave him had came out soft and low. A tender coil of her lips materialized. But her face stayed in his hands, his hold tightening a touch and the tiny prickling of pain she felt and ignored. And then when she had least expected it, his own frail smile had emerged before her.

Yet the fear in his pupils persisted.

"Good…" His thumb never stopped moving.

A chill had gone down her spine. From his single word, she had thought Hotch would've said something else. He had looked as if he wanted; needed too, although nothing more was said because had lowered his head then. His mouth inched closer to hers. Her world was out of control. And once his warm breath tickled her skin, Emily knew it was too close.

They were _too_ close.

He had pulled back at the moment, and similar to that night almost six weeks ago, she had wondered if he knew what she had been thinking. His hands dropping from her face, his eyes for the first time since his appearance avoiding hers.

"I… I should go…" he whispered.

Emily acquiesced, her own grasp loosening before her arms fell to her sides. He had moved back and ran a hand over his mouth. She gave him a quick, uneasy grin before she looked away and nodded almost vehemently. Within seconds he was out her door, but in place she had stayed wondering what had just happened.

After that night, everything between them shifted once more.

Hotch had begun watching her closely. Every few moments here and there, she had discovered his steady eyes on her for seconds too long. She would feel his stare burn through her body underneath the sun and through the cool winds. Her heart would thump three beats faster. He kept her by his side more often as well. She hadn't understood why. On field they treaded carefully with their movements in sync. In the stations they studied the evidence thoroughly and collectively. And the more she had found them working side by side; she realized everything felt easy with him. They worked well together, knowing exactly what to do, what to say with the minutest glance. So she never questioned him.

Something continued to change once they were alone. Those quiet conversations lessened even a little more. The silence she enjoyed before wasn't always so anymore either.

Traces of tension slowly built between them.

He felt distant from her.

And a part of her had been worried. She had wanted to ask him about it, if something was happening, if something was wrong, if he still remembered that night in her apartment for the reason that it remained in her head and mixed with everything else that wasn't the same as before.

But she didn't though.

Because just like with New York; what had occurred when it had been the two of them alone wasn't spoken of. The night; that moment when he had been so close to her coming too vividly once she would be trying to unwind, tossing and turning in bed only because his face she saw instantly as soon as her eyelids descended down. She would stay awake for a while, speculating about the what ifs, the possibilities if he hadn't let go, if she had held on, if he hadn't left.

Emily didn't know what to do. Her head couldn't stop the scenarios, her heart raced, and her pulsed increased. What to make of her running imagination, the weird feeling in her stomach she felt forming, she couldn't find a solution.

So she did what she had to do.

She compartmentalized. She pushed that night, the fear she was feeling, every thought she had, and ultimately him into those petite black boxes. Whatever she could find, muse over, she would use it to distract her from them and him.

The boxes in her head, in her heart piled up.

Hotch continued staring at her too long. He had her close to his side still too much. The comforting conversations and soothing silence decreased more as the tension increased. And all the while, despite her best efforts to avoid everything she was picturing, the quick beats under her left breast, those thoughts about the possibilities and him, remained to in her head, her heart, finding an inescapable path directly to the middle.

The pressure intensified.

And now as she stood in the ladies restroom of the fourth floor of the hospital, Emily was waiting for them to topple over and burst open like before in her past.

There were the possibilities again, his face pressed into the side of her brain. The fear, the complete panic was set in her heart like before.

It just wasn't about that night in her apartment though. It wasn't about what she felt when she thought of what could've occurred between them that night.

Because as Emily waited for those boxes to fall and all the things she wanted to ignore spill out, he was lying in the hospital bed one floor below.

Once they had returned from Canada and walked out of the elevator into the sixth floor last night horrified and exhausted over the case, the only thing that she wanted to do was forget the last few days and go home. But she as well as each one of them had stayed for just a short time, putting away a few belongings and piling and setting up the files to complete the next day. And soon when she had tried to stifle an upcoming yawn, Morgan announced that it had to be time to go and get some sleep. He was gone within thirty seconds and Reid had too soon left after him. Then minutes later she had waved to Garcia and JJ before giving a slight nod to Rossi as he had passed by her desk on his way out.

She had remained after that, watching as the last four people left in the bullpen slowly dispersed as well. Before she realized it, Emily had found herself sitting in the empty bullpen with a file opened in front of her for another twenty seven minutes until she ultimately gave up. She desperately needed sleep and the four yawns she suppressed in a row had been her sign. With a deep sigh, she rubbed her eyes and looked up at the dimly lit office.

Emily hadn't been the only one left.

With a mental debate, she pushed her fatigued body out her chair and treading quietly up the steps and to his door, she had knocked softly until his firm voice informed her to enter.

He was still burying himself in paperwork she saw once she slowly pushed the door open. Despite the long and horrendous case and late night, he never stopped working. But surely he had needed sleep because the cup of coffee he had poured himself quickly after they had settled was by his side with the aroma of strong black coffee filling her senses. Emily had stood in place though, one foot in his office and the other out on the catwalk as she held onto the handle and leaned against his door.

"Hey."

She had smile tiredly at him.

"It's late…"

His own weary grin ghosted his face for a moment while his gaze lingered over her face. She was taken back, but it was welcomed. It was something given how he had been, they had been in the last few months.

"You're still here."

The three words were light and in jest, she realized and almost immediately, Emily had felt her cheeks flushed for a flash of a second. She had bit her bottom lip swiftly.

"Go home…"

With one last parting beam on her face, one Hotch had deemed very timid silently in the back of his head, their stare remained leveled and intact until Emily had bowed her head and turned her heels. She had left his door partially open, hoping when he shut it, he'll be going home to rest like everyone else. And down the five steps she had descended to collect her coat and bag before making her way to the glass double doors.

The next time she saw him, Emily had discovered herself standing by his bedside. The sounds of the monitors on the left of him alerted her of their present location. Each sharp beep informed her that it wasn't some nightmare she was in; he was in, but reality.

Nine stabbings and it had to be luck that he survived.

Tears in her eyes slowly had begun to build. But she had refused to allow a single one of them to roll down her cheeks, nodding a bit to the doctor's words and staring at his sleeping figure while the organ in her chest palpitated.

She immediately compartmentalized just like those other times.

When Emily had shown up at the crime scene earlier in the morning after just the four hours of sleep, she was surprised that he wasn't there. Regardless of the lack of sleep or the cases they had, he would usually be one of the first ones to arrive. She recalled shrugging just slightly when JJ had told her he hadn't picked up yet. But thirty minutes later and discussing the precautions they had to take with their current case, her mind raced a little bit more once JJ told her again he hadn't answered still.

"That's not like him," she had remarked.

And it was the truth.

Even if he had failed to answer the first call, she couldn't remember him not answering a second or third call unless he hadn't wanted to. So twenty minutes later and she had been sitting with Barton and Reid studying over the past cases, Emily told Reid she was going to get him. They needed that extra set of eyes.

But honestly, she was worried. Something had felt _so_ awry.

She had arrived at his apartment building seventeen minutes soon after. Her heels clicked loud on the granite floors until she had reached his door. Then she had knocked, waiting for a response and getting nothing before dialing his number. The ringing broke the quietness and heightened her concern. And when she had touched the knob, finding the door unlocked, her pulse sped up without hesitation.

Then the sight of the hole in the wall, the blood seeped into the pale sandy colored carpet and his gun on the table while his phone lay on the ground, Emily felt her head spinning, her heart gripped at.

Yet her voice she had kept calm, her attempt to mask the fear that built with each minute ticking away, questioning what had happened to him as she called Garcia and Reid. And after Garcia's finding of a John Doe at St. Sebastian and making the connection to Foyet with Morgan's credentials, the instant panic set into her. She had driven so quickly to the hospital then. Her head didn't stop from picturing the scenarios of what had happened and the state of his condition as she had ran to the front desk, flashing her badge.

But once Emily had settled her eyes on him, the first glimpse of him with the tubes connected to his arms and nose she knew would be stamped in her head for perhaps an eternity, the trapped breath in her throat she hadn't realized formed finally found its way out.

The two hours after that had turned overwhelming. He opened his eyes and his worries instantly shifted to Haley and Jack upon his finding of their picture with the bloody fingerprints tucked inside Morgan's credentials.

As they had waited for the word of their safety, the terror he felt had been perhaps too much because the monitors beeped like sirens unexpectedly.

Her own pumping heart had raced in barely two seconds.

But he had reassured her, what he may have known she needed to hear.

"I'm okay."

His simple and hoarse statement had pierce into her. She had felt another few boxes fill and placed into the corner of her heart and her head with that.

And they had been safe, he learned. They were alright and alive and that was all he had needed to hear to calm the rapid beating of his heart.

Hers never did though as he had blatantly lie to her afterwards.

No, he couldn't remember anything.

She didn't push him once he uttered those words to her, knowing it wouldn't have done any good for him or for her because a part of her didn't want to know the exact details of what had happened. Despite the constant speculating she had done, looking over his chart, and even asking him if he had wanted to talk about it, Emily didn't want the word for word description from his mouth burning through her ears, the scene etched into her brain when she would be alone and listening to the thumps of her heart.

It would have only been buried into more of those little black boxes she had building high in the two parts of her body. They already had been becoming too tall and Emily believed that _that_ would've caused everything to topple over. And honestly, she didn't know if there would've been enough of those little black boxes to fit the scenario of him and Foyet.

Not tonight and maybe not ever.

So she had accepted his answer without a second question.

For the remainder of the late afternoon and evening as he grasped the reality of having his son whisked away into protection, she worried about him in the back of her mind. She did her best in concentrating on the evidence for Foyet, but the checking up on him as well as Reid on the floor above his only had seemed to rattle her more.

And nearly seven hours later after the first moment she had seen him in the hospital bed, it was drawing close to eleven and Emily wanted nothing more to go home.

Everyone had left a short while ago. After the last visit to Reid with them all asking if he needed anything else, if he was alright himself, he had waved them all off with one of his charming smiles and told them to go home. And she had given him a pat on his good leg before walking out with the rest of his visitors.

But she lingered for a few moments longer, telling them she just needed to make a fast stop to the restroom. They could leave without her, she had informed them, hoping they would have consented without argument. And they did, and now she was staring into that reflection of hers.

Emily was still attempting to wrap her head around the day, feeling the boxes in her swaying to the sides.

This day, her world had been moving too fast.

She needed to breathe. She needed the day to be over. She wanted it more than anything.

The red color she had painted onto her lips in the morning was all gone. She saw the exhaustion in her eyes and under them as well.

It had been too long a day.

With a sigh, she had left the bathroom and went straight to the elevator. But when Emily walked in, her index finger finding the button to her destination, she didn't press the ground floor. Instead, she had watched as the next number down in the circle lit up brightly. And once the doors opened, she walked back down the familiar hallway.

His eyes were closed. His breathing was soft.

Her movements froze at the entrance. She was almost afraid to take another step forward in fear of wakening him. He needed sleep. His world had come crashing down nearly seven hours ago. The state he was in, she imagined without delay, but fully knowing she wouldn't be able to ever feel. And the state he would be in once he would be out of the hospital, she didn't know. As Emily watched the leveled rise and fall of his chest, she hoped that he would find a little peace in his sleep. Even if it would be for a few hours and temporarily, he needed desperately.

Emily tilted her head, breathing in, and the smell of the hospital was too overwhelming. It made her feel nauseous. She hadn't been shot nor had been stabbed nine times, but she felt all the energy completely drained from her body and the need to bow over a toilet. The lack of rest last night didn't help and either did all the fear she still felt flowing through her body for the man on the floor above and the man she continued to keep her stare fixed at. It seemed to be a never ending day and she needed to get out of here. So Emily took one last glimpse of him, a simple measure she realized without doubt to make certain that he was really alright and there. It was almost like New York, she thought. And when she gradually twirled her around, ready to walk out and hopefully too find just a few hours of peace in her own sleep, calm words rang into her ears.

"You're leaving…"

It came out a statement rather than the question Hotch intended. She turned, her heart skipping a beat when she set her eyes right to him in the low lighting. Little by little his eyes opened. In four seconds, Emily took the five steps in until she stood by his bedside once more like she had done so already many times earlier in the day. Her chest ached watching him inhale deeply and exhale slowly before he moved his head and eyes just slightly.

"Yeah..." Her voice was soft and indistinctly hoarse. "I just wanted to check on you before I left…"

He nodded against the pillow, fixing his gaze to hers. She bit the corner of her mouth.

"I'm okay…"

His reassurance was gentle yet strained and for the brief moment, it brought her back to earlier in the afternoon when he had whispered it to her. But unlike that first time when the sun had still been shining in the sky, she saw out the frail curl of his thin lips.

It was a minuscule piece of evidence to be tagged with his words.

The tears she suppressed before build up in her eyes. Yet once again though, she wouldn't let any fall down. She needed to continue to compartmentalize. For just about the last nine hours of her day, she had been perfecting this skill even more, and she wasn't going to let it falter now. So with a weak upward curve of her lips, Emily bobbed her up and down as the sight of him blurred just a touch. She resisted the urge to go another step or two closer.

"Go back to sleep," she murmured in the dim room.

Their gazes were kept solid on one another until she watched as his eyes gradually shut with a heavy sigh escaping from his mouth. With a shaky breath drawn from her a minute later, she backed out of his room as silently as possible. She didn't look behind her.

He would be alright for the night; she tried to tell herself, repeating it over and over again in her head while making her way to the elevator.

And six minutes later Emily was in the car. Her hands gripped firmly on the steering wheel with her knuckles becoming white.

She couldn't hold it all back anymore.

The compartmentalizing of the day completely fell apart that moment. Warm teardrops stumbled bit by bit out. But when she has tried to calm herself, it only got worse. The tears fell harder; the gasps were shorter as the boxes in her exploded. All her panic and fears of the day, worried about Reid when she had hear the gunshot and especially about _him_. From the sight of him lying unconsciously in bed to the thought of losing him, to the two words she continued to repeat in her head over and over again, it all tumbled out.

So she sat in her car crying for a while.

And it was a relief.

Feeling everything she had been bottling up in the day, the images printed into her brain, everything she had wanted and needed to hold in knocking her off her feet. A weight was lifted off her shoulders.

It eventually halted though, her tears.

She didn't know how many minutes passed when she sensed the drying out of her tear ducts. With sniffles and several gulps of air, Emily didn't even bother wiping her stained cheeks as she started the ignition. The drive home seemed longer than usual, almost infinite as she stared down the dark streets. And once she arrived at her two story brownstone, unlocking the door and kicking off her boots at the entrance without a care, Emily immediately went straight into the bathroom. She turned on the shower and stripped out of all her clothes. A fast shower she took because what she wanted to do was simply to crawl into her bed.

But she couldn't sleep.

When her head hit the pillow, her body melted into the soft mattress. Her eyes shut at once soon after. But no more than fifteen minutes later, her eyes flew right open. She sat up, grasping the crisp amber and cream colored bed sheets. Her heart was pounding and her forehead was a touch sweaty.

Nine stab wounds but there was no luck.

It was just her imagination though piled on by the stress and the day, it was only that. Yet for nearly an hour afterwards, Emily stayed wide awake. She tossed and turned, hoping that a cool spot on the large fluffy pillows would finally put her to rest. It didn't help though and neither did altering her sights from the ceiling and the changes of the glowing red numbers on her nightstand.

So she sat up once more and threw the thick covers off her body. Within minutes she was dress, and two minutes later, her footsteps traveled the path to her car.

Then Emily drove.

Down the same roads and streets under the extremely early and dark sky of the new day she drove for twenty six minutes until the familiar structure came into her view again.

Seven minutes shortly after, she stood at the entrance of his room.

He was still asleep.

The sharp beeping of the monitors continued

His steady breathing filtered into her ears too.

Like she had done hours ago, Emily stood at the doorway of his room motionless for a while. She shouldn't be here. She should've been at home, in her own bed and getting some sleep. But she couldn't will her feet to turned around and walk away. Her hand gripped the doorframe. No one seemed to notice her presence. The faint words of the doctors and nurses and sounds of the hospital she ignored though as she kept her stare on him. And within merely the short moments of standing there, her vision was growing hazy.

He was okay.

Emily shifted her eyes around, hoping to clear her sight and settled between the two bright spots in the room then. The green numbers and lines on the monitor and the vase of yellow daisies placed on the tiny corner nightstand. The haziness didn't change.

Garcia had dropped by, a vase of bright and delicate daisies in each arm for the both of them. Reid had quipped lightly with a grin that he wasn't dying when she had hugged him tight. It was just a minor set back for him as he rattled off the statistics on how fast a gun shot wound to the leg would take to heal. And when she in her lime green sweater and bright magenta pattern dress had treaded into his room in baby steps and set the vase down for him, Hotch had expressed his gratitude solemnly. But Emily watched as his face turned softer whilst he had smiled at Garcia sadly, hoping she realized that even if his voice didn't sound like he did, the bright yellow petals in the room was appreciated.

She threaded her fingers through her long tresses and tucked her bangs behind her ear. Before she registered her following motions, Emily took one step forward and another and another until she reached the chair by the wall that she had occupied once before. She sat, taking in a trembling breath quietly and looking around the still dim room before ultimately returning her gaze to him.

Just for a few minutes, she gave herself.

So she leaned back, sinking into the cushioned chair as she crossed her long legs. The tiredness of her body she deemed had increase as she let out a yawn. She hoped to just hold off on the sleep her body was begging for. With her elbow propped on the wooden armrest, she folded the limb up and fisted her hand tightly. Emily tilted her head to rest against it; never taking her eyes away from him while the soft sounds of his calm breathing was the only thing she heard.

She would just sit here for a few minutes.

It turned out to be longer than that though.

Each extra minute that ticked away on the clock hanging on the opposite side of the wall, she told herself it would be just another minute before she would leave.

But she never got up on her feet, sitting there still like a statue, continuing to eye the rise and fall of his chest.

After a while, Emily felt her eyelids getting heavy. The need for the sleep felt so intense and her head was beginning to hurt. It was becoming too difficult to push it off any longer, the pain in her head deepening every additional minute she sat there until her eyelids bit by bit dropped down.

She couldn't fight it.

The image of him gradually disappeared, and all Emily could ponder about, the reason for her return to the hospital during this hour and sitting back in the chair in his room was to see with her own eyes, making certain once more in her heart, in her head that he was okay.

For now, he was and so was she.


End file.
